Midnight At Herlong Manor
by IvyBrown
Summary: Gideon Spencer could not believe his luck. He'd just landed his dream job as head curator of the Bates Natural History Museum and his on-again, off-again romance with Avery Archer was definitely back on. Just when he thought things could not get any better, a serendipitous meeting with a mysterious Englishman leads to a terrifying adventure that lands him at Herlong Manor—a place l


**Gideon Spencer could not believe his luck. He'd just landed his dream job as head curator of the Bates Natural History Museum and his on-again, off-again romance with Avery Archer was definitely back on. Just when he thought things could not get any better, a serendipitous meeting with a mysterious Englishman leads to a terrifying adventure that lands him at Herlong Manor—a place lost in time somewhere between Gainesville, Florida and Hell.**

 **Copyright © 2015 by Sherrie Bain**

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-10: 1517142407

ISBN-13: 978-1517142407

 **CHAPTER One**

 **the Wrong man for the job**

Gideon rammed the jeep into the "P" position and hoisted himself over the driver side door without bothering to open it, or even remove his keys from the ignition. He sprinted through the entrance of the post office-almost colliding with the pile of pre-assembled priority mailing boxes that were stacked next to the self-service kiosk. The Ridley Anthropology Grant had to be postmarked by 5 P.M.

"THANK YOU!" he uttered loudly when he saw that there wasn't a line for the single self-service kiosk that waved at him like the checkered flag during the final lap of the Daytona 500. Jabbing purposefully at the automated menu, Gideon cursed under his breath as he waited for the machine to confirm his purchase. He sighed with relief at the sound of the postage falling down into the retrieval slot-checking to confirm that the time stamp showed 4:59 p.m. _Not a second to spare…_

Now he could enjoy the rest of his weekend. He was about to celebrate having been named Curator of Bates' Museum of Indigenous American Artifacts in Gainesville. Gideon still could not believe that he'd gotten the job, especially after the incident in Clementine's office.

Three weeks ago, he'd sat sweating profusely as the pretentious matriarch of the Bates Family Foundation scowled down at him over the rim of a pair of expensive glasses that probably cost more than his annual teaching salary. The Foundation occupied the top floor of the granite colossus of a building that also housed the museum. It was a monument erected by the coal magnate F. Lee Bates-the now deceased third husband of Mrs. Clementine Bates. The family was old money and had been prominent in the Gainesville area for over a century. Most of the commercial buildings in the historic district were stamped with the Bates' name, as were the golf course and luxury condominiums that littered the _nuveau riche_ section of the city.

"Mr. Spencer, you are not qualified for this position. But given the delicate nature of the situation, I am willing to hire you on a trial basis for the next six months. This is of course contingent on your… _discretion_ about Mr. Wilkins' association with this foundation." Clementine sat waiting from his acquiesce with a frozen look of disapproval on her Botox-enhanced face.

Despite the fact that she was using him to avoid a scandal involving _her_ family's foundation, her condescending voice carried a threatening hint of what might happen if he didn't agree to her terms. No doubt she'd make sure he never found a job in the city again. _Bitch_. He knew he was not the first choice for the position, but the superstar archeologist Ken Wilkins—the original pick for Curator-had just been arrested in a child predator sting operation down in Polk County. Gideon had originally been hired to teach one of the educational workshops for area high school students who would visit the museum on field trips.

When the news broke about Wilkins' arrest, Mrs. Bates quickly moved to squelch any media revelations about his association with the Foundation. She had quickly sent out a press release indicating that the Foundation had hired the "brilliant young anthropologist" Dr. Gideon Spencer as the Curator of the Indigenous Americans Museum, even before she'd ordered him into her office to inform him of his new position. He knew his days were already numbered, but at least the six months of work and the sudden bump in his paycheck would give him some much-needed street cred on his resume and enough money to finally get the heck out of Dodge for good.

He'd spent all of his life around Gainesville, never more than a few hours away from his mother, who had become too fat to leave her bedroom since Gideon's first year of college. She had not always been that way. It all started one day when he came home from class to find her crying hysterically on the living room floor, surrounded by the gnawed bones of a rack of ribs and a half eaten chocolate cake. It was a meal she had prepared to celebrate his parents' twenty year anniversary. She informed Gideon that his father had ran off with one of the women at the local salon where he went to get his toupee groomed.

In despair Gideon's mother had turned to food for comfort. She had no friends and her entire life up to that point had revolved around Gideon and his father. Within a year she had gained over four hundred pounds. Unable to walk anymore because of leg pain and poor circulation, she'd slowly retreated more and more into the depressing confines of her bedroom. The bigger she got, the more abusive she became. Although Gideon contemplated leaving and never returning on more than one occasion, he continued to endure her misdirected anger year after year. His only escape had been the hours he spent on campus pursuing his anthropology studies.

Finally, on the day of his dissertation defense, she'd died from a massive heart attack. He'd come home, excited for the first time in over a decade—eager to tell her that despite her constant assertion that he was never going to amount to anything, he'd finally become a "Dr.".

Gideon knew right away that something was wrong because there was no, "What the fuck have you been you neglectful spawn of Satan!" the moment he walked through the door. They had to use a crane and knock down part of the bedroom wall to remove the body. Gideon felt only relief as he watched the massive blob covered by a king-sized bedspread, being carted away on the back of a pick-up truck.

He had requested that the funeral home cremate her body and when they handed him the urn with her remains, he'd emptied the ashes down a sewer drain. A month later Gideon sold what was left of house and bought an old 1970 jeep. He'd spent the good part of the last year hanging out down at the beach in Clearwater, and fruitlessly hunting for a job. The lack of viable job prospects in the anthropology field was disheartening, especially now that he was running low on cash.

Gideon really wished he could just tell Mrs. Clementine Bates to shove this job up her snooty arse, but the Curator position was a once-in-a-lifetime Hail Mary. Despite her arrogance, he straightened his ill-fitting tie and nodded his agreement to her preposition.

It felt a little like he was selling his soul and a lump formed in his throat. He was suddenly hesitant to sign the contract, instead reaching to take a sip from a glass of water that sat on the coffee table next his chair. In his nervous state Gideon accidentally picked up a coffee cup instead of the water. The surprise of gulping the warm liquid trigged a reflex reaction that resulted in him spewing warm coffee across the desk and onto Mrs. Bates' expensive silk blouse. He apologized profusely but only made things worse when he rushed around the desk to dab at the front of her blouse.

"MR. SPENCER!" she gasped, swatting his hands away.

"I'm sorry! So sorry!" he groaned in embarrassment, sinking back into the leather chair and hoping that it would completely suck him down into its depth until he disappeared.

By some miracle Mrs. Bates did not fire him on the spot. Instead she tossed the contract across her desk and yelling, "Sign it before I change my mind you imbecile!" He didn't even bother to look at the details and quickly signed his name before escaping the office.

Now, three weeks later, he was still too afraid to acknowledge it, but Gideon had actually started to embrace the idea that maybe he could make this more than just a temporary appointment. He knew that he would need to pull out all of the stops to impress Mrs. Bates. And nothing impressed old money like more money. He was determined to prove to her that hiring him was the best decision she could have made.

His first goal was to successfully apply for the Ridley Grant—a $10 million prize that would allow him to complete the excavation of the Chinché site. Chinché was a newly discovered Native American archeological site just outside of Gainesville. Buddy LaFontain, a local forest ranger, had stumbled upon the site while tracking a pack of coyotes that had gone on a kitten murder spree over on the north side of town. When he saw the ancient arrowheads Buddy knew right away that this location was newsworthy. He'd called the local news station immediately to pose for pictures with his new-found relics.

Unfortunately, his claim to fame was short-lived because the Bates owned the land on which the site was located. Clementine-true to form-sent out a press release of her own to announce that the site would be excavated and the artifacts housed at the Bates' Museum. Gideon was sure that ole biddy Bates would welcome his multi-million dollar prize because it would allow the museum to complete the Chinché excavation without dipping into the Bates' coffers.

His postal mission accomplished, Gideon turned his attention to the next pressing issue: he was heading down to Tampa for a night at the slots followed by a little bar hopping across the bay in Clearwater Beach. It was the end of Spring Break season, but there were always enough divorced or desperate soccer moms to make it worth the trip. In his year of gallivanting since his mother's death, Gideon had become quite the ladies' man. The last time he was down at Clearwater Beach he'd…

Gideon's reverie was interrupted by the squeaking of wheels as a frail, diminutive woman slowly edged her way over to a row of post office boxes. He walked back towards the entrance, but before he could make his exit the woman further caught his attention when she dropped her mail. She feebly attempted to pick them up again while still holding onto the walker. _Helping little ole ladies, kittens stuck in trees, and chickens crossing the roads is totally my superpower_. Gideon walked over and scooped up the mail-handing them to the old woman with a huge smile on his face.

"Why bless your soul, young man." She said, her face crinkling into a toothless smile.

"Ma'am, it's my pleasure to help."

"Where are you heading young man?"

Gideon thought it very odd that she would know he was heading _somewhere_ , but brushed it off.

"Heading down to Tampa ma'am: I'll be going to visit my uncle." Gideon didn't know why he lied about visiting his non-existent uncle. Somehow the old woman made him feel like he was 16yrs old again and sneaking off to smoke pot behind the local bowling alley with his best friend Percy.

"Oh, how lovely!" the old lady exclaimed clapping her hands together so enthusiastically that Gideon was afraid her fragile little wrists would snap.

"My Wilbert used to teach Chemistry over at the University of Tampa back in the seventies. We lived down a ways in Dade City. My eldest boy Jeb still lives in those parts: just a little fork in the road, but I do declare it was beautiful living..."

Gideon was pleasantly surprised by the serendipitous encounter, but he was starting to dread the thought of being stuck in the post office for another half hour as the old lady reminisced about her days in Dade City. He smiled intently and nodded his head every so often. At the same time he slowly inched backwards, hoping for a break in the conversation. The old lady seemed completely oblivious to his escape attempt, becoming more animated the longer they stood talking. The automatic entrance door opened as he stepped backward even further and Gideon glanced longingly at his jeep. He had a two hour drive ahead and he didn't want to get caught in rush hour traffic.

Finally the old lady started to slowly shuffle toward the entrance-still talking animatedly about her days of hunting wild boars and gators. At any other time Gideon would have loved to hear more about her life, but he was so thankful when they made it to where her vehicle was parked. He stood there waving as she drove off in an old black truck. After her revelations about her past escapades Gideon was not at all surprised that this frail old lady would be handling a truck like a skilled forklift driver.

Once he was back on the road Gideon's attention returned to planning his first few months on the job. The excavation was not scheduled to begin for a few more weeks so that would give him some time to get acclimated to his role as Curator.

"Gideon Spencer, Curator," he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror. _Damn if felt good to have something go right in his life every once in a while_! At least for the time being he was he was actually excited about his life in Gainesville.

 **Illustratration by Kopale © 2015**

 **CHAPTER Two**

 **the englishman's quest**

After winning $1500 on the penny slots at the Hollywood Casino, Gideon headed over to the waterfront, feeling like he was indeed king of the world. He first stop was a local dive bar named The Drunken Parrot. Gideon had become somewhat of a regular. The whisky was cheap, but he kept his drinking to a minimum these days. Past experiences had taught him well. He'd made a mistake of getting wasted one weekend and going on and on to a cute blonde at the bar about how he'd just sold his house. The next thing he knew he was waking up on the beach sans his wallet.

While he had learned his lesson about getting drunk, he was still a sucker for a beautiful woman. His motivation for stopping by The Drunken Parrot on this particular night was Avery Archer, the bartender. Gideon had met her a few weeks after the wallet incident. He'd sat at the bar and struck up a conversation with her over the course of the evening.

Gideon could tell that she was out of place in a dump like The Drunken Parrot. She was from Vermont originally and was excited about moving down to the Sunshine State. Most of the other single women he encountered here were either spring breakers who didn't know just how awful the bar was, or the really hard-knock life, career barfly type who were partially responsible for the seediness of the establishment. Avery was different. She had studied Art History and was actually interested in his work as an anthropologist. She'd taken the job at the bar when the art gallery she'd moved down here to work at burned down during an eccentric show by a local artist. He'd insisted on creating sketches and then setting them on fire as soon as they were done. The show turned out to be a raging fire of success.

Avery was the kind of woman who made every place seem classier, and that was a significant feat for a dump like The Drunken Parrot. Gideon would make it a habit of leaving her a fat tip every time he came to the bar. It was part of the reason his bank account had shrank so greatly in the past few months. But his persistence had paid off. He'd somehow convinced her to go out on a date with him and by the end of that week he was practically living over at her place.

But then Gideon had started to panic—thinking back to the disaster of his parent's marriage, and the years of torment he had endured from his depressed mother. The domesticity of his life with Avery was overwhelming and long story short, he manage to really mess things up by screwing around with one of the spring breakers. In true Avery form she managed to make him feel worse than shit because she still remained friendly towards him whenever he came by the bar after their breakup. _Or maybe she was slowly poisoning him with ethylene glycol every time he ordered a drink and that's why she was so Zen._

Gideon arrived at the Drunken Parrot just after 10 P.M. Things seemed slow, but then he remember it was a Monday night and things were always slow on Mondays. He slapped a $100 bill on the counter top, leaning over to grab a half empty bottle of whisky, and two tumblers. Avery was serving someone else at the other end of the bar, but he yelled down to her.

"Come have a drink with me baby. I'm celebrating!"

She rolled her eyes but walked back towards his corner of the bar. _Damn! What an idiot he had been to mess things up with her. Maybe, there was still hope…_ He handed her one of the tumblers half-filled with whisky and raised the other in midair.

"To the new Curator of the Bates Foundation Museum of Indigenous American History!" He announced theatrically.

Avery giggled and clanked her glass with his before taking a big gulp. He did the same, squeezing his eyes shut and grimaced as the sting of the alcohol caused his throat to burn and his eyes to water.

"Wha ta we celebratin'?" asked an unfamiliar voice with a thick English accent.

Gideon opened his eyes, but had to shut them again, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. While he didn't immediately recognize the voice, he knew that face from countless Extreme Explorers magazine articles. A recent edition featured an article about Lord Benjamin E. C. McClellen, Explorer Extraordinaire, and his quest to find the lost Sword of Matsumura. McClellen was a self-taught natural history explorer who had spent the last 20 years searching for all things lost. That included, the Lost Ark of The Covenant, The Lost City of Atlantis & most recently the Matsumura.

The Englishman was the only heir of Lord William McClellen. Next to James Cook and Thor Heyerdahl there were not too many explorers more noteworthy than Lord William McClellen.He had made first contact with tribes in New Guinea and Central America back in the 1950s, and was said to have once navigated the entire length of the Amazon in a plastic barrel. While the elder Lord McClellen was well respected and quite successful in his quests, Benjamin was more effective at finding the bottom of an ale mug, than any historical artifact or civilization. Yet, with a bank account that was larger than some small countries' GDP, he globe trotted and explored more than Indiana Jones.

His appearance accentuated the eccentric nature of his personality. He wore his hair and beard in long ringlets of greasy curls. Most of the time he was clothe in an old sea captain's outfit, complete with a mariner's hat. At other times he wore ruffled Victorian shirts complete with a tiered, lace jabot. Tonight he'd chosen to wear one of these shirts and a high waist black pair of tights along with a cowboy hat and boots. His ruffled shirt may have once been white, but it was now a dingy yellow color, covered in beer stains and pieces of peanut shells.

He was flushed and sweating, no doubt due in part to the 80-plus degree heat and the amount of alcohol he had imbibed. The Englishman stumbled up against the bar, accidentally bumping into Gideon.

"I can't believe this! Lord Benjamin! What brings you into this dive hole?" Gideon asked, extending his hand for a shake.

If nothing else the man was a character and Gideon had enjoyed following all of his exploits over the past decade. Watching his TV specials had kept Gideon sane during the worst of his mother's miserable years.

"Well now laddie, I've got some celebratin' to do meself!" McClellen exclaimed.

The badly sunburnt, heavily intoxicated Englishman then launched into a tale about how he had discovered the Lost Colony of Roanoke. Between gulps of whisky he talked animatedly about how everyone had been looking in the wrong place up in Georgia, when the Colony had actually migrated further south, guided by a band of Native Americans.

"Gainesville my good man! That's where I'm headin! " the Englishman exclaimed.

According to McClellen the Roanoke Colony had ended up somewhere near Gainesville before truly vanishing without a trace. Now, he claimed that two weeks ago he'd located some artifacts. Gideon knew enough about the history of the Lost Colony to realize the Englishman -while heavily intoxicated-was also knowledgeable about this mysterious tale in American history. There was something about his conviction that was so peculiar, it was hard not to be intrigued.

The Englishmanclaimed that his computer tech guy had built a simulation program to calculate the exact weather conditions in the two year period after John White had left the rest of the colonists to return to England. He bragged that his tech guy had been able to successfully identify the timing of a particularly active climatic event-most likely a Category 5 hurricane-that had battered the coast of Cape Hatteras, and moved inland over the course of a few days.

Historians all agreed that the colonists had left Roanoake and headed inland and further south. But exactly where they had ended up and what happened to them was still an unsolved mystery. Now, according to McClellen, using his tech's data and mapping the terrestrial routes that they might have taken, it was obvious that the colonists-with the help of the local Croatoans-had trekked down to central Florida and ended up just east of Gainesville.

While his story had been entertaining, it was something that the Englishman took from his shirt pocket that really got Gideon's attention. It was a button… Not just any button, but one that Gideon knew well from a class project he'd completed on military uniforms and regalia from the late 1500s.

"This my good lad is just one of about a dozen I found so far, all smack dab in the middle of the swamp right where I predicted they would be!" the Englishman declared, holding up the button between his index finger and thumb before slamming it down on the top of the bar like a domino.

"So… where is this site?" Gideon asked, half joking, half hoping that McClellen would not only tell him, but ask him to come along for the adventure.

While he didn't spill the details, he assured Gideon that his claim was real. Gideon relayed the story of Buddy LaFontain and how Clementine Bates had stripped him off his Chinché discovery. However, there was no need for the warning. McClellen might not have had a whole lot of luck in his quest for lost things, but he knew about the intricacies of archeological prospecting.

In fact, he was heading to purchase the land upon which the artifacts were located first thing in the morning. There would be no greedy Bates getting their paws on this find! Gideon was starting to get almost as excited as the Englishman. Forget the Ridley Grant and the Chinché excavation: if what McClellen said was true, Gideon would be able to build his own museum with the amount of dough and fame that would roll in. _He could look forward to telling that bitch Clementine just where to stick her job!_ However, he was getting a little ahead of himself. While the Englishman seemed eager to tell him about his find, he had not yet invited Gideon on the expedition. As if reading his mind, McClellen leaned in even closer, grasping Gideon tightly around the shoulder.

What happened next both bewildered Gideon and permanently altered the course of his life. After tucking the button back into his shirt pocket the Englishman made Gideon a deal. He challenged Gideon to a contest that seemed almost impossible to lose. The Englishman would attempt to catch 5 peanuts in his mouth before Gideon downed a shot of whiskey. If Gideon won McClellen would designate him _Curator Dominus_ of the excavation and any artifacts that were retrieved would be housed in a new museum that would no doubt outshine the Bates Museum. _What anthropologist worth his weight in whisky could turn down a challenge like that?_ __

Lord McClellen rose shakily to his feet, bellowing aloud to the other patrons that they were to come and bear witness to the competition. The band of inebriated misfits formed a semi-circle around the two men, cheering them on as Avery placed a full tumbler of whisky in front of Gideon, and a bowl of peanuts in front of the Englishman. Margie, one of the regulars, decided that she was going to serve as the countdown girl-nevermind the fact that Margie hadn't been a girl for more than six decades.

Gideon flexed his hands and counted along with Margie: _3,2,1_ … and then he was gulping the down the whisky, slamming the empty tumble on the bar in less than three seconds. It took Gideon a moment to realize that no one was paying attention to him. The entire crowd stood hunched over his competitor, who lay sprawled out on the floor with a peanut stuck to this forehead. The man was dead.Gideon pushed his way past a bewildered Margie and started CPR.

"Call 911!" he yelled as he pumped frantically at the Englishman's rotund chest. The EMTs arrived and took over from Gideon but to no avail. They pronounced Lord McClellen dead at the scene. Just as they were about to wheel his lifeless body out of the bar Gideon sealed his fate with one more act that he would later regret. _What were the odds of a chance encounter with a real life explorer bearing tales of the greatest Archeological find of the century?_ He rationalized that this incident was meant to be—another random event like the Bates museum job and winning the $1500-that just fell into his lap just at the right moment. Gideon knelt down, patted McClellen's chest, as if he were giving his former challenger one last farewell, and deftly removed the ancient button from the Englishman's shirt pocket.

While the Drunken Parrot patrons dispersed to consume a solemn round of drinks, Gideon excused himself and walked outside under the pretext of needing some fresh air. What he really wanted to do was find the Englishman's ride. It really wasn't hard given that Lord McClellen drove an old VW bus with deer antlers attached to the hood, and the phrase "World's #1 Explorer" painted on both sides. The man was truly an enigma: he was wealthy as sin, but was known to drive around in his little old VW bus. He actually had a collection of the vintages buses and kept one on every continent where he might be engaging in his latest expedition. He also didn't travel with an entourage and often flew a small Cessna to his destination of choice. Tonight, this all worked to Gideon's advantage.

Every explorer worth his salt would have maps and other notes about his latest expedition on hand. Technically McClellen had agreed to take him along anyway **.** So, Gideon rationalized, it was only fitting that he continued the Englishman's quest. Gideon pressed his back against the driver's side door of the bus. Reaching behind, he checked the handle to see if it was unlocked while scouting for any potential witnesses to his second crime of the evening.

Thankfully the door was open and to Gideon it was just another sign that he was on the roll of his life at the moment. Confirming that the coast was clear, he quickly hopped up into the bus, closed the door and then scooted behind the front row of seats. The back half of the bus had been modified so that it now served as a sleeper/office area. The cabin was littered with fast food debris and empty Guinness bottles. A poster of last year's Miss July was tacked on the inside of the van above a crumpled sleeping bag. Gideon spotted a weathered rucksack stuffed next to a makeshift work station. His hands trembled slightly as he unzipped it and emptied the contents onto the sleeping bag. The rucksack contained a laptop as well as a leather-bound journal, an envelope full of cash, and the name of a real estate agent up in Gainesville. Gideon stuffed the contents back into the bag and quickly exited the van. His own jeep was parked a few yards away and he hurriedly tossed the rucksack in his trunk before locking the jeep and heading back into the bar.

Although he wanted nothing more than to sit there and thoroughly review the content of the backpack immediately, he didn't want to raise any suspicions. If this really turned out to be the find of the century he wanted to make it look like he totally stumbled upon the location. Even though the other patrons had witnessed the contest, Gideon doubted that any of them would remember anything the Englishman had said about the treasure. Happy Hour at the Drunken Parrot started at 4 P.M. on Mondays and this motley crew had probably been lined up to get their two-for-one special since 3:30.

He wasn't worried about the tech guy either. According to McClellen, he had made the journey to Florida alone because his tech guy/co-explorer was back in England getting over a really bad bout of malaria he'd contracted on McClellen's last African expedition. The prognosis was grim and he probably would take months if not years to recover even if he survived.

Most hardcore anthropologists and archeologists didn't take Lord McClellen seriously. However, they would take the Curator of the Indigenous American Artifacts Museum seriously when he broke the news about his amazing and serendipitous discovery. _But what about Avery?_ Gideon's mind nagged. _Had the Englishman spilled anything to her before Gideon arrived at the bar?_ _If she knew she'd be the only person likely to put two and two together and throw a monkey wrench in his claim to fame later._

Back in the bar Gideon headed over to where Avery was using a rag to wipe down the countertop. He wanted to put in enough of an appearance to not raise suspicions, but he was already making plans to drive back to Gainesville so he could be at the realtor's office first thing in the morning. His top priority was to purchase the land just as McClellen had planned. Then he would make a quick excursion to check out the site.

Once he had secured the land and confirmed the location of the artifacts he would wait until his gig at the Bates' Museum was over before he would start excavation of his own treasures. He sat down absently at the bar and without asking, Avery poured both of them another whisky. This time there was no celebratory toasting. Gideon tried as best as he could to hide his internal excitement about what lay ahead, but he could barely wait to hit the road.

"So, how about that for a slow Monday night, huh?" He said wrapping both of his hands around the glass, but not taking a sip.

 _If he was going to make it back to Gainesville tonight, he'd better hold off on more booze._

"Yeah, poor guy. I guess he died happy." Avery said taking a drink and looking quizzically at Gideon's still full glass.

"Did you know him? Was he in here before?" He pressed.

"No. He'd just walked in a little while ago and kinda sat over in the corner downing a pitcher of beer right before you came in. First time I've ever seen him around here. Funny accent… I wonder if he was Australian. I hope they find his next of kin." She said, staring off into the distance.

 _Good! She didn't seem to know anything about the Englishman's quest._ Half torn between staying and trying to hook up with Avery for the night and getting back to Gainesville, Gideon took one last sip of whisky. He spontaneously leaned over and gave Avery a kiss on the lips, before rising to leave. She seemed startled but not scornful about the kiss and had it not been for the secret waiting in the trunk of his jeep, he definitely would have stayed longer to see just how lucky his night would be with her.

"I think I'll call it a night. Take care of yourself Avery." He said before turning and walking away.

"Hey Gideon," She called out to him, "are you sure you can't stay a little bit longer? I get off in about 20 minutes."

 _Then again, the night was still young enough for him to spend a couple of hours with Avery and make it back to Gainesville before daybreak_. He turned back towards her, a wide grin on his face. This time when he sat down he didn't hesitate to finish off the tumbler of whisky. _He was coming up aces tonight!_ Half an hour later he was helping Avery into the jeep and driving off towards her condo. Glancing into the rearview mirror he could see the rucksack bouncing around in the back of the cargo area. It seemed to frown at him like a jilted lover, looking on at his amorous pursuit of another woman.

Instead of two hours he ended up spending all night and most of the next day in bed with Avery. There was nothing like sex with a woman who had just seen death up close. It's as if she was determined to affirm her membership in the land of the living with every caress. He apologized for being such a jerk when they were dating. She forgave him and said she still loved him. He didn't know if he was ready for love, but he was definitely enjoying this momentary reunion. _Maybe it would not be a bad thing to have a beautiful woman like Avery in his life and on his arm when he would have to attend one inevitable museum fundraising event or another in the future._

His thoughts about the museum jolted him out of the temporary bliss. The rucksack was still waiting for him right where he had left it in his haste to get out of the jeep and into Avery's pants last night. Now that she had just jumped into the shower he took the opportunity to sneak out into the garage to review the notebook.

Most of the content of the notebook included polaroids of Lord McClellen pasted on the pages and descriptions of various locales from his numerous, if fruitless past expeditions. The man would have had some serious airline miles had it not been for the fact that he flew his own plane most of the time. Gideon finally arrived at a page towards the back of the notebook that included a photo of McClellen holding the same button he had shown to Gideon. The entry was dated just two days ago and below it was scribbled " **Roanoke**!" There was another photo on the opposite page of a clearing bordered by large oak trees with strands of Spanish moss hanging from their branches.

Gideon sighed with relief because it appeared that the Englishman was taking a selfie and that further affirm the lack of additional parties to this expedition. His rotund shadow could be seen in the image of the clearing. The last entry in the journal included GPS coordinates. Gideon set the notebook back into the rucksack and picked up the laptop. _No password protection, SCORE_! Another image of Miss July served as the desktop background for the laptop's home screen. There was a file folder titled "Roanoke" and instead of searching through it Gideon took out a USB flashdrive from his glove compartment and copied the entire folder onto the drive. He didn't plan to keep the laptop just in case someone associated with McClellen attempted to locate it once his death became known. After Gideon confirmed the location of the artifacts he planned to burn all the other evidence he'd stolen from McClellen's bus as well. _No loose ends._

Gideon was suddenly overcome with a wave of panic. _Was this really happening?_ He'd experienced more good luck in the past three weeks than he had in his entire life. He inhaled deeply, and slapped himself across the cheek.

"Wake up man!" he said out loud.

At that moment the door to the kitchen opened and Avery poked her head out, squinting into the darkened garage.

"Gideon, is everything okay? You're not skipping out on me without even saying goodbye are you?" she asked.

"Um, no babe, I just needed to get my cellphone charger." He lied.

She stood for a moment more before turning to go back inside, but left the door ajar. Gideon shoved the laptop back into the bag, then grabbed it out again. He got out of the jeep, taking the rucksack with him this time. But instead of heading straight indoors, he walked over to the trash can and tossed it in, making sure to pile some of the existing trash on top.

He turned to walk into the house but changed his mind again and rushed back over to the trash can to retrieve the laptop. _It would probably be better to just toss it into the ocean. That should take care of any fingerprints._ If Lady Luck was on his side then he was going to do everything in his power to make it last. He finally went back inside where Avery was sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee. Gideon sat down next to her, placing the rucksack on the floor.

"I have to tell you something."

Up until that moment he hadn't plans to let Avery know anything about the backpack or the details of his conversation with the Englishman. Half an hour later she knew everything.

"Take me with you," was all she said.

 **illustratration by Kopale © 2015**

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